The Muse Ran Off With The Stories - IWSG

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and upcoming CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.

There was a little girl who was a bit different, impulsive, hot tempered, rebellious dreaming false worlds when she should have been studying some more. The daydreams grew larger, more verbose and sometimes silly. As the space between the grey cells shrunk, she took to writing on pieces of paper... some saved, some frittered away carelessly...she never showed them to anyone lest she be mocked at by the uncaring. Then it happened, the stuff that her fears were made of. Unlike other kindred spirits, the more she read others, the less pieces of her own got written till a day when the dreams knew better and took flight to the nether regions of her mind, a self  imposed exile.

Time flew, walked, crawled, the dreams peeked out now and then and verses took shape that were protected fiercely for years and yet the best ones cast one day into the fire of battered self esteem (especially the ones dedicated to her fiancé-husband who broke her spirit)....and then after years of grey bleakiness, the tumultuous life led her back to the road she had long ago abandoned, the only one left she could travel through, to save her sanity.

 The journey was risky, shaky, encouraged by loved ones who had secretly read her amateur works. And just when the adventure was getting to be fun, lady luck decided to play games again.

And lo behold,
 The Twin, The  Muse Ran Away....
leaving behind a sci fi that is just about a quarter complete, a fantasy barely written, a poetry collection due for e publishing in March with quite a few missing pages, short stories to be drafted and rewritten from scratch.
She filled a complaint with the "Missing Muses Retrieval" writers club in December but yet to hear from them.
Anyone who sees 'Reka Sang' slouching around in the upper decks of cyber space, do cajole her to come back please...as said she is moody and cantankerous, gets offended easily. Will this be enough praise to melt her heart??

Penned bold thoughts /

Heart never speaks of /

Love this muse //

 3-5-3

 This is how the Muse looked when they last met....maybe the lady should check Facebook, for sure she is whiling away time with those mindless games or the news rooms where she is flirting with the big boys.

 The strain of these online searches and researching in her absence simply translates into
 "The Girl/woman is taking a blogging break for two to three weeks" beginning tomorrow.

Be careful who has control over your body - Surgery hours Part 15

Silencing the beeper, Stewart stood undecided, his current state of mind not ideal for any form of surgery and he knew it.

The bodies had disappeared… Damn these visions! 

 He took a valium to calm his nerves. He needed to get his act together, retain some semblance of normalcy. Else the repercussions could prove fatal. He could not allow anyone to visit home till he had cleaned up the place. The staff from the agency was due for the maintenance visit in the weekend, which gave him just two days.

Angela…he missed her so much.

The investigation had begun, now that they had found Josh’s body; the attention had swung back to him. The detective, blast his name, had already called him twice as had the reporters. It had taken all his strength to answer the questions with composure, regret and anger in the right places.

He changed into fresh clothes while calling Malcolm, his friend from medical school. Malcolm had seen his share of emergencies, being a visiting surgeon at St.Vincent’s with a thriving practice of his own a few blocks away.

Luck on his side, Malcolm had already been contacted by the hospital staff. He was aware of the strain Stewart was under and promised to watch his back.

Next was Brendan, his loyal assistant whom he acknowledged with a “You will be joining Dr.Malcolm and Dr.Bakshi. I will be there as soon as I can.”

A nervous, agitated voice responded, “It seems like a routine accident case, drunken driving…but…”

The hesitancy prompted Stewart to ask “Did you ID the patient?”

“Nothing on him, detectives are swarming the floor and a couple of government officials have turned up.”

‘Must be a local politician or high ranking official, a potential cause of embarrassment’ mused Stewart as Brendan’s voice came back on line.

“I only got a look at him; they are keeping things pretty hush hush…” “Doc, Gotta go…”

He hurriedly parked his car and took the basement elevator to the second floor. The scene that greeted him was one straight from the movies…what caught his eye however, were the two officials standing apart from the others. There was something familiar about the muscular men.

  Nurse Lee, ever competently helped him sterilise, as he tried to keep him mind alert and focused. As he pushed his body through the side door, his colleagues greeted him with somber looks. As they updated him, it was obvious that with a head injury and a puncture to his left lung, the patient’s chances of survival were rather slim. They worked in silence, in perfect tandem for the next three hours till they were relieved by a newer set of surgeons brought in.

One of the muscular men stopped them outside the sterilising room with a curt “We need him alive.”

“Who is he?” queried Malcolm.

“What we say stays here, is that understand?”

The three nodded…“He is ex CIA agent, Alex Sonneberg.”

Stewart collapsed on the floor…

“Surgery Hours” bn~30 Days 30 Writers 1 Story.

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# 45 RandomMusings For The Day

Not been well for a while, the blood test revealed a chest infection plus severe anaemia....hopefully the infection will turn around in a week or two but the iron deficiency will take longer to rectify..
I should be able to get to regular blogging soon, don't miss me too much. ;D


Tomorrow happens to be India's republic day....makes me wonder....where is a republic headed when it panders to a small group of religious fundamentalists and prevents an eminent Indian origin author from participating in a literary festival (having banned his book Satanic Verses 20 years ago)??

Thrill Or Trick - Epilogue

I apologise to all my centusians and commenters for not responding last week.
 Not been well for a while, taking the blood test for the incessant cold and cough.
I should be able to get to regular blogging soon, don't miss me too much. ;D


For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 150 words. Based on the literary device of a cliffhanger...this is the epilogue of the story that concludes the last two weeks' posts of cliffhanger and  resolution respectively.. Check the others afterwords there.


Ali and Simi trudged up the slope... the others would have gathered on the top by now.

Ali looked at the plains in grim silence.

 Simi walked quietly beside, the ideal travel and sparring partner to her twin, though she was hard pressed as to why he didn't fly the carpet.

Reading his thoughts, “ This journey is as much for her as Shammi Uncle, isn’t it?”

He looked at her for a moment and responded, “ I promised to protect her and failed.”

“You saved her life…the healer says that her soul is lost in the void, not left her body yet.”

Ali smiled,a first in many months.

There were many sad eyed, happy faces that stared back at them.

“How is Ria?” asked T.C as a small group approached them.

“ The same since you  last visited.”

“Come children, change into your robes, the memorial chants begin shortly.”

Thrill Or Trick - 2

 Part  1 is  the previous post.

Shammi replied “The Green Dew.”

Simi looked at him, a fear and question in her eyes as the others looked to the edge.

Ria or her lack thereof forgotten.

“Gather your clan children here,  protect them all.”  Time to seek his estranged warrior brothers, their very existence at stake.

 Image Courtesy Libertatea

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 50 words. Based on the literary device of a cliffhanger...this is the second part of last week's cliffhanger to conclude the story.. Check the others hanging offs there.


*Not keeping well, hence will get back in a day or two, my fellow centusians.

Thrill Or Trick - Part 1

"Some things never change around here." Simi poked around trying to fish out the harried souls.

The souls in question seeking solace from the stern elders, often alone or in groups of two and three by the lake.

'Sharing secrets inside the mansion walls was both embarrassing and dangerous' opined the teenagers.

This bunch was not smarter than the ones in the preceding years but used a different system of disguises. Hard to know if the portly, middle aged man she detected was indeed Shammi Uncle.

'Offending a senior member of the household meant hanging off a cliff like... Ria...
what the hell was that?'

Google Image modified

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 100 plus the prompt in bold. Based on the literary device of a cliffhanger...that is, the second part next week will complete the story.. Check the others hanging ons there.

Something New - Something 2012

# 43. # 44 RandomMusings For The Day

Why are they called millionaires and billionaires.....is the polluted air they breath that potent?? 


Kim Jong of North Korea, the 'Central Brain' is dead....will his son, his successor be called 'Vacuum Left'??

Creative Fibbing

"Mom, my friends will tease me. I told them we have one."

"How many times have I warned you ‘no fibbing’?" walking away.

"She is a child, you were the same."

"It doesn't have to be that way"*, covering the edible tree with shiny paper.

'Where was Santa when needed?'

* I used the prompt from last time's missed session.

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 50 words based on a picture prompt this time round. Check the others decorations there.

Sinking In Memories

Image by Mostafa Habibi

Mired in dreams

unpleasant to boot,

nostalgia uncurls her ugly fingers

leaving me craving 

for the lost moment in heaven.

Digging deeper into the recent past, 

opens unhealed wounds best wrapped up

 in comforting voices and clicking keyboards

 The clouds beckon the bout of tears,

 plummeting self amidst the sea of callous
this ride will last a while

till the boatman finally comes by.

The Writing Journey - Reflection Of Our Growth? - IWSG

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and upcoming CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.














                   

There are things, small changes I have noticed lately, related to my favourite past-times involving music, books and movies.


Been noticing that the works I loved even a decade ago are something I can't stand and even cringe at nowadays. I used to love hard rock which, now, often seems like noise. Authors like Danielle Steele, Sydney Sheldon, Indian authors like Shobhaa De, Salman Rushdie (India born and educated) even Ayn Rand whose books I used to gobble up in my late teens and early twenties are largely ignored.


Which got me thinking, does our writing reflect the change/growth in us as we age,  just like our evolving tastes in arts and other things? How often do our own personal experiences or that of acquaintances turn into short stories and novels?
Can even non tamperable genres like fantasy and sci- fi incorporate our ideologies, prejudices, dreams?
 How far is it practicable or proper to do so?

A Young Dream Broken

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 16 words excluding the prompt in bold to create an autobiographical story...with a picture option this time round.

Sixteen in 1990 – Andre Agassi’s striking mane, my heart flutters…

2010 – find out, was a bloody wig!!! 

*The picture for those who don't know/remember

A Journey Through A Fairytale - Book Review

   The Iron Tooth - Prithvin Rajendran

 Lead Start Publications  

 Genre - Fiction/ Fantasy (Children/ Middle Grade/Young Adult)

 Paperback, Pages 218, Price   195/$ 8 (available at Amazon.com)

‘The Iron Tooth’ is a fantasy set in the fictional continent of Goodabaiya and aimed at children and young teens. It starts with the prologue of a young, unmarried and pregnant girl from the land of Sumrak thrown out of her home and forced to find shelter at a remote area in the foothills of the Mala Mountains.  There she gives birth to two babies – a human boy and one troll girl which form the basis for events which are revealed only at the end of the story.

  The book then takes us to the land of Dashter, a great and mighty kingdom ruled first by a good king, Dashtum and later by his equally strong but evil son Darum. It is Darum’s eldest daughter Nova’s vanity driven behaviour that leads to her imprisonment and suffering of her people cursed by the powerful magician Faerum; till their redemption at the hands of Princix.

 Three main Characters emerge at this point, the protagonist Princix whose unknown heritage is revealed with other clues that tie up the prologue with the tale. The imprisoned Princess Nova who by then, regrets her part played in the curse becomes his love interest keeping in line with the fairytales we have grown up with. Finally the evil Wizard rather sorcerer  Faerum who enlists the help of six powerful fellow wizards and the Custodian Of Light in his cruel, malicious act of revenge on Dashter . The book then introduces us to the kingdom of Greatix, which is also the home of our protagonist and his family. Princix, who is both kind and brave, on an quest for fame and wealth wins magical weapons that enable him to become the Champion General for the kingdom of Greatix.

Princix’s duty as Champion General is to find out what ails the neighbouring kingdom of Dastur and help alleviate it. He journeys with two Imperial Guards, Candelbre and Hammil faces his share of battles and adventures  and discovers the all-important iron tooth.

The Author Prithvin has faithfully adhered to the fairy tale style and tried to create a tale that displays his creativity in the process. There is a assortment of languages in the book including the one invented by the author, the language of the Bak. Both old and modern English have been used throughout the book and a bard style of rendition of opinions and conversations finds a place. A multitude of characters in the form of mythical creatures like vampires, trolls, Medusas, fairies, an immortal Custodian, zombies, ghouls and creatures of the author’s own imagination  like the elite soldiers, the Baks are found throughout the pages.

 I liked the addition of appendices which include a chronology, maps, a translation of the Bak language Nivthrip.

I felt that the cast of characters was overcrowded with the mythical beings have very little to do. The prologue will baffle readers till the end, which I wish had been addressed in the form of a retelling in the early or middle part of the book.

At times the book felt like a series of short stories leaving this reviewer with an ambivalent feeling. The tenderness between Princix And Nova didn’t inspire either nor did Faerum come across as that cruel or foreboding.

The book overall has good continuity and flow but doesn't suck you into its world making you want to read more. Some stereotypes are inevitable because of the genre and do not detract from the book, but a tame  Nova who does nothing but repent her actions was a bit of a dampener for me.

Some of the opinions were demeaning to women. They shouldn’t find place in a book whose primary audience is to be those between 9-13 years.

The book doesn’t clearly mention the exact genre rather coded only as a mystery on the back cover. This being the author’s first novel, hopefully his next novel will be worth more than the 3/5 star rating  given for the debut attempt.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

 Personal Disclaimer: Though this book was a free copy received for the purpose of review, the post in entirety is my basic impression after reading the book. It is not based on intervention by the author, publishing house or the blogging forum.

That Fateful Day

This small space had become a second home…better than the broken, crumbling walls in the remote village he had spend 20 long years in.

Cramped behind the old walls hid his famous face. The reconstructed interiors which once were the home of nationalists, was now his lair…hopefully for a long time.

 He never enjoyed these rare interactions with the kafirs* or those who professed to follow his religion… the paper rustled in his neighbour’s hands.

What stumped him however, was one of his brethren’s question "Would you like fries with that?"... on reading aloud the headlines on the front page ‘High Court upholds Kasab’s* death sentence.’

I Dream About

Being able to say 


what you want to


without the "voice" at the back


reminding, 


someone is sure to get offended.






Putting those words on  paper 


before she says "lights out".


prose or verse doesn't matter 


as long as a part of me, thoughts


and emotions get reflected.






That scene that would make for 


images to come back to,


the vision needed to enable


those pictures speak a thousand words.






These tiny dreams are for everyday


to breathe and sustain.


the bigger ones remain elusive


food, water, clothes; 


the three basics for all.


throw in some shelter, 


a bit of education and some empathy,


sisterhood and peace


to make others dreams come true.








"This post is an entry at Blogjunta Dreams Contest  judged by Jyoti Arora, author of Dream's Sake" won the third spot. ;)

I Dream About

Being able to say 
what you want to
without the "voice" at the back
reminding, 
someone is sure to get offended.


Putting those words on  paper 
before she says "lights out".
prose or verse doesn't matter 
as long as a part of me, thoughts
and emotions get reflected.


That scene that would make for 
images to come back to,
the vision needed to enable
those pictures speak a thousand words.


These tiny dreams are for everyday
to breathe and sustain.
the bigger ones remain elusive
food, water, clothes; 
the three basics for all.
throw in some shelter, 
a bit of education and some empathy,
sisterhood and peace
to make others dreams come true.





"This post is an entry at Blogjunta Dreams Contest to be judged by Jyoti Arora, author of Dream's Sake"


Added To Gooseberry Goes Poetic

This And That And Some NaNo

I haven't purposely neglected my dream journal...just that life is a tad more interesting at this point. My fingers in so many different pies....a big mess of time and vacation if you ask me.


I  am having an awesome time with my nephews, yep, April and November are two months of the year my life gets topsy turvy....real life pulling me with  two pairs of tiny hands in one direction and my writing pulling me in the other. Tough....for this hermit to come out of her shell bi-annually and find herself in the fast lane. (my darling brother insists that I book my tickets to Bangalore else he will have me kidnapped from the dark comforts of my room) 


 For those few friends wondering about my NaNo...well, good news and bad news...I am writing everyday but realise that am a slow writer and the deadline kills my world and character building not to mention leaving me uninspired to continue.  It has rekindled my love for writing short stories and saved our relationship (mine with < 2500 words).
So 30000-35000 words is what I am aiming for. A far cry from 2009 when I couldn't write more than 8000 words before I finally quit. Of course that was the year of the 'great event' that has left me legally single though not blonde, I don't hate my black hair (I know black is an optical illusion provided by our eyes, that makes us wizards right?)  but would love brown, glossy hair ( is it even real?)...


How I wish, that scientist  in the news would discover a laser procedure for permanent hair colour and texture change....why the hell would I want to turn my very dark brown eyes to blue only to have it contrast funnily with my light brown tanned skin. ;D Could make for a good fantasy story though....
 But the news today that our solar system was most likely, the aftermath of a supernova makes my sci-fi planet creation plausible. Can you see me jumping around...you say, you cannot?....well then, leave you with a picture of the current me....yes...because the weight loss program I have enrolled in, will hopefully leave a better looking me next time around. 


I will catch up with your blogs and rants starting today evening...don't mind!!!

 The real, hassled me without make up  (don't use much anyway)
.. taken by my 4 yr old nephew Sid last week.

The Art Of Dialogue Writing For Stubborn Mules - IWSG

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the Amazon top ten sci-fi space opera CassaStar, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.

By songsnwords | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

Dialogues how much is too much or too little?

I write short stories and poetry (making a living on them will take another post, hell, seven lifetimes - seven being an auspicious number for Hindus, forget Voldemort's seven horcruxes please!!)

Short stories generally can be written with fewer dialogues, mine has just the bare minimum...poetry is a dialogue with myself and the rare listeners, so I can get away with almost anything even dark or erotic.
My insecurity stems from lengthy dialogues needed for my NaNoWriMo (International November novel  month)  in progress ( I say, two days is progress). Given that I am attempting space opera style, soft sci-fi makes it a doubly daunting task.
 I am bad at dialogues, I openly admit. Does it have something to do with the fact that I can't converse just for the sake of it?...it has to be meaningful/useful interaction even if it's about which mascara doesn't run or whether it's going to rain in the evening, know what I mean? And as one of the commenters on a recent blogfest pointed out, when I do use them they turn out to be full of unnecessary details....

 Is there a magical recipe for perfect dialogues? How does one avoid too much or too little of it?

Eventful Halloween

Halloween elsewhere

has witches and vampires 

coming out of their lair.

Our halloween 

had the metal kings* 

burn up the green city.

The racing cars* added their 

zoom to brighten up 

 a lazy sunday afternoon.

No tricks but treats,

not candy to taste

but for the eyes to feast

the snow in New York 

dampened not the protesters'*

heart or soul

The holiday this year  

marks the birth of

the seven billionth heir* 

to the chaos and order 

that goes by the name 

Planet Earth.

* India's  first F1 Grand Prix was held on Sunday in one city while Metallica rocked us in Bangalore.

Today the Wall Street protests continue in New York while the seven billionth Earthling is born elsewhere.

Gooseberry Goes Poetic

I Paint Words

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog.. any genre, p.g as far as possible, not to exceed 25 words excluding the prompt in bold. A story on a picture again....
Criticize the other black words there.

A Story Grows

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog.. any genre, p.g as far as possible, not to exceed 100 words using the prompt in bold to create a story on the picture this time around....
Water the other saplings there.

I saw him there, busy with his axe slicing through the branch he was seated at the edge of. I screamed almost,  ‘you will fall down, you dolt!!’ The watch could only let me stay not change. 

Countless retelling didn’t prepare me for gravity’s working. He fell; branch, the weapon and all.

Could he be the Master, history proclaimed him to be? The language he choose, as classical as his imaginative works.

Were they even his? Didn’t the skeptics say The Bard too was a fake?

I would prove them wrong. I planted a little story seed and out sprouted "Of Shakuntala recognised by a token"*.

* It was among the first Sanskrit works to be translated into English . Written by Kalidasa,  believed to have lived around 4th century CE and sometimes referred to as the "Shakespeare of India".

A Romantic Journey Through Music - Review Of Live From London

 Live From London - Parinda Joshi 
 Publisher  - Rupa Publications  
 Genre - Chick Lit - Contemporary Fiction - Women Fiction
 Novel - Paperback - Pages 204 
 Price -  195/$ 19.95 
 Available at Amazon

This book is not just a journey from India to England. This is a crossing over from a  carefree, fun filled days of growing up to the pain and trials filled life of a grown up. It is not about going back to the roots rather about escaping the harsh realities of one world to nurture broken dreams in another.

 This story of an aspiring singer who loves her red guitar starts with her first major failure and a humiliating one at that. Anyone who had watched or been a part of reality talent shows know the trauma of failing under watchful, snickering eyes of millions. Nishi Gupta experiences this with a  false start in TV reality talent show "British’s Got Talent". This, coupled with the fact that the debut is an unplanned one makes it a double jeopardy in terms of her future career.

The tale unfolds with her trying to drown the nightmarish memory in the cacophony of an internship in one of the dominant record label companies in the U.K - Hues. Accompanying her in the roller coaster ride is a trio of friends Riya, Sarah and Zac (as different from each other as cheese, chalk and beer), a rigid boss turned friend Lynette and loving parents, who in typical Indian style of parenting, are unable to cut off the apron strings. 

It’s a kind of reverse karma that a Britain’s Got Talent reject’s first breakthrough comes from the generous, underhand plans of the American Idol runner up. The new import from USA on the UK horizon is initially the current big client material for her company but goes on the become the love of her life. The half Canadian, half Indian musician boyfriend Nick Navjot Chapman dominates a major part of the story. Nick and the well meaning but flirty friend Arjun provide the necessary drama and entertainment.

This tryst with fame causes a major upheaval in Nishi and Nick’s personal lives and she returns to India, to Mumbai, where her father is currently stationed. The search for success continues its often lighthearted and crazy journey till it meets the open gates called "co-host" for a reality TV show Indian Rockstar Season 5.

The boyfriend is initially too good to be true, but becomes more human with the classic touch of falling for (well almost) a seductive and tempting colleague. The nerdy, bossy Sarah who spearheads Nishi’s dormant desire for success is a typical alpha female whose affair with goofy, witty but less smart guitarist Zac is doomed to failure. Riya, the typical rich, happy go lucky romantic who falls for men with looks comprises the third of the band of close friends. Nishi's support system comprises of  a mom who shows her love through food and well meaning but oft rejected advice, a civil servant father who is torn between treating her as an adult and his naïve child and a rigid female boss who becomes her mentor. Arjun, an RJ for the popular FM Channel "Radio Mirchi", who at the onset is annoying but gradually becomes a good friend is added to this collection of interesting characters.

Nishi, the protagonist, comes across as a little heartless and insensitive to others feelings. I didn't quite feel her pain and her success in a short span of 6 months is a bit unsettling. I wish her character had been better rounded but I guess a 21 year old can be granted some leeway.

I loved the “unfinished” ending which leaves room for more possibilities even a sequel.

I liked the concept and the fact that the author has done the necessary research to provide an authentic description of the music scenario in London and Mumbai.

A major grouse I have with other chick lits or expat writers (a reason why they don’t form a major part of my reading) is the excessive caricature and stereotyping of characters. In the case of Live From London, which I have rated at 3.5/5, I am glad to say the book manages to escape that quite well.

The author, Parinda Joshi, captures the moments with candid humour that often belies the tribulations and heartbreak beneath. The conversationalist style coupled with a fast paced storyline makes for a quick, entertaining read.

I would recommend this book  for those looking for a modern fairytale with its sad moments. This is not a book for those interested in an extensive study into human relations and emotions or looking for depth in characters.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

 Personal Disclaimer: Though this book was a free copy received for the purpose of review, the post in entirety is my basic impression after reading the book twice. It is not based on intervention by the author, publishing house or the blogging forum.

Whispers.....

 100 words using the Sensory Details Literary Device (the five senses) 


I ambled along on this weather beaten path to god knows where. The tourist brochure had looked enticing enough to pour non existent savings on a well deserved vacation, a last chance to mend the rift between us.

He bungled up as was he was wont to, not laziness but sheer indifference.

The cottage looked more like a haunt for lost ghosts.

An accidental touch of the wall sent chilling tingles down my spine.

The stench of despair was everywhere inside.

Whispering voices rang the death knell all night long.

I tasted the bitterness of defeat long before the end.